


The Sound of Magic

by kitchenwitchbae



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Almost smut, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Banter, Butterfly Effect, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flirting, Julian's Smirk, Light BDSM, Love, Magic, Multi, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Romance, Sensuality, Swearing, Tenderness, mutual growth, shifting pov, the muses won't leave me alone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-10-31 10:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17847692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitchenwitchbae/pseuds/kitchenwitchbae
Summary: The Worlds are out of balance. In this period of deep stagnation, plans are set forth and events churn underneath the pulse of life. To restore balance, the past must be faced to create a new future. Will they have the courage to break free or will they remain in the mire? Over all of this, a song weaves itself through the air. Follow it, if you dare.





	1. An Alley Cat's Midnight Foray

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my beta, Tumblr user, @anotherclichednightmare.tumblr.com, and the creator of Sylendias's moodboard and Sylendias and Julian's chapter headers, @dr-devoraak.tumblr.com. You both are incredible and I'm so lucky I found y'all!
> 
> This will probably show my age, but I solemnly swear that I do not own anything and that I'm only playing in the Arcana sandbox the Devs have provided while the Muses consistently throw sand at me. I hope y'all enjoy this AU and I welcome any comments. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

 

     In the alley, Julian slid deeper into the shadows next to the shop. He hadn’t seen or even spoken to the witch for years. He pushed through his negative thoughts, determined, for once, not lose his nerve. With these missing gaps in his mind, this curse upon his throat, and without answers, he knew that he must confront his past. And he had to do it tonight. The key burned in his pocket; he’d kept it all these years. Even if his old friend wasn’t home, he’d be able to search the rooms. The back door was covered in deep shadows and he found it ridiculously easy to slip up to the threshold. The key weighed heavily in his fingers - he nearly dropped it twice. He slid the tarnished key into the lock. Just as he was about to turn it, he heard something - it rose and fell in strange rhythms.

_Was someone … singing?_

    He glanced over his shoulder for a moment before realizing that the sounds were definitely coming from behind the door. Strange. He hadn’t known the witch to sing. Granted, he didn’t know much about him now. Perhaps he’d unearthed yet _another_ talent?

    Julian quietly turned the key and eased open the back door. It opened silently and he inwardly blessed the gods that the witch still kept the hinges well-oiled. _At least that memory’s reliable._ The singing grew louder and, if possible, more unearthly. He was certain it wasn’t the witch. The voice was not the same.   _So, then who…?_

    He left the door open behind him for a quick exit, slid the key back into its pocket, and slowly, stealthily, crept forward into the dark hallway

    The lamps in the shop still glowed softly, beckoning him forward. The leather of his gloves creaked slightly as he balanced himself against the wall, but before he could even begin to peep around the purple and blue curtains into the shop proper, the music washed over him. A familiar ache began to pulse in his chest. He ground his teeth and leaned forward just enough to peer into the room.

    ...He almost fell over.

    A young woman danced across the shop floor, vocalizing luscious notes without words. They rose into the air, sparkling with magical motes of silver. As if lifted by the notes of her song **,** a cloth followed her across the room, moving along with the music.  He watched, eye widening.

    With every high lilting note, the cloth lifted itself, dusting down a bottle or a box. With every low and sustained note, it slid across the shelf or surface, wiping it down. Each vibrato caused the cloth to swirl in the air, sending up sparks of silver magic and dust motes. He only began to blink again when his eye stung like the Devil.

    She was _singing magic._

    He’d never seen or even _heard_ of anyone doing magic like this. He felt strange, almost as if he were intruding into something he wasn’t meant to see. It twisted in his stomach, although the butterflies already there seemed to object. Perhaps he should just - _go?_

 _But what of his answers?_ She should be able to answer some of his questions, at least she could tell him where he might be able to find his old nemesis or when he could possibly expect him back. He shook his head, trying to clear it as he watched her. She was really _quite_ lovely, in fact. Long brown hair pulled back in a complicated braid laced with colored ribbons, bare feet skipping over the floorboards, a bewitching smile...

    She sang a high quivering note and the song faded. The cloth spun itself clean in the air and gently floated into her outstretched hands. “Thank you so much,” she said quietly to the cloth, folding it neatly in her lovely fingers. “I appreciate your help.”

    Her voice pierced his heart, making his breath catch in this throat. Not even a moment later, an all too familiar pain shot through his mind. _Damn headaches, not now of all times!_

    She froze.

_Shit._

    She turned, brilliant purple eyes skittering across the room. “What’s going on? Who’s there?”

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

    He held himself completely motionless. She stared directly at the hallway for a few more moments with a frown. He didn’t even dare to blink. Just as he was sure he’d been caught, she shrugged and turned away. “Must’ve just the alley cat,” she murmured to herself. Julian slowly, carefully, let out his trapped breath. He pressed himself back against the wall. Really, how much wiser would it be if he were to go back to the alley, close the door, and then knock? _Perfectly reasonable._ Yes. But still…

    He impulsively moved forward again, watching her as she put a few more things away and started extinguishing the lamps. His stomach churned as the twisting dread and the fluttering butterflies now fought against each other. He should leave.

_Shouldn’t he?_

    An ear-piercing animalistic scream and a thunderous **_CRASH!_ ** came rushing through the open door from the alleyway.

    She shrieked and jumped. Hell, _he_ jumped! _Oh, fuck._ As soon as his heavy boots hit the floor again, her eyes had snapped to his hiding place.

    “I know you’re there!” she shouted, a fierce scowl on her face. He tried desperately to become one with the wall. His mind was full to bursting with curses that would make Mazelinka proud.

    “I’m warning you!”

    He shrank back, trying to slide away.

 _I’m not here, I’m not here, I’m just a shadow on the wall, fuckfuckfuck…_ Her soft footfalls were coming straight for him.

_SHIT. MOVE._

    He stumbled backward as a single harsh note escaped her lips and a tongue of fire appeared in her hands.

    “ _I warn you not to play with fire!_ ” she sang out as she menaced the hallway, bouncing from heel to heel in a ready stance, the fire leaping about in her hands like a living thing. He fled down the hall, breaking free of the shadows to hurtle through the still open door.

    He didn’t touch it, not daring to call more attention to himself. He hurtled down the alleyway, the cobblestones doing nothing to muffle his heavy bootsteps. A strain of song raised up behind him and he just made it about the corner before she stepped out into the alleyway.

    He ran as only a fugitive could.

    Many sharp turns and wall vaults later, he was sure that neither she nor the ever-present palace guards had followed him. He ducked into the safety of the alley behind his favorite tavern, The Rowdy Raven. He could finally stop running. He slumped against the wall, breath harsh and shallow. He pulled off a glove, yanked open his coat, and held his shaking fingers over his heart. It pounded underneath them and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

    As he struggled to catch his breath, his mind replayed her voice again and again. ‘ _Thank you._ ’ He trembled as the sonorous melodies that wove themselves into her magic wrapped about his thoughts. His headache doubled, but this time he ignored it.

    This was worth remembering. _She_ was worth remembering. And something else nagged at him from the back of his brain.

_He knew her._


	2. New Moons are for New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank my beta, Tumblr user, @anotherclichednightmare.tumblr.com, and the creator of Sylendias and Julian's chapter headers, @dr-devoraak.tumblr.com. You both are incredible and I'm so lucky I found y'all!
> 
> I will try to update this fic every other Friday, but of course, that schedule is subject to change. Thank you so much for clicking to read and I hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Now, join us in a small magic shop on a moonless night when new beginnings literally knock on the door.

    

 

    Sylendias bit at her lips, fingers re-braiding her long hair for what felt like the fifth time that night, watching Asra pack his travel bag. “Are you sure you have enough potions?” she asked, taking a half-step towards the storage cabinet where she kept all her potions in haphazard rows. “Mending, pep-up, serenity? I think I can fit another enhancement-”

    Arsa smiled benevolently, eyes gentle. “Yes, I have enough potions.”  

    She twisted her fingers through her braid again.

    “You have enough rations? I did put a packet of your favorite tea in there.”

    “If I recall,” Asra chuckled, “you put three.”

    “Ah, right. Yes, I did.”

    “Sylendias,” Asra murmured, stepping forward to wrap her in a hug that smelt of herbs and flowers, “you have done more than enough packing for me.”

    She melted into his hug and sighed into his shawl. “I just want you to be prepared. Remember what happened last time?”

    Asra’s eyes twinkled as he laughed. “You packed too much food and I couldn’t eat it all?”

    She arched an eyebrow at him. “As I recall,” she teased, poking his side, “the real problem was that you didn’t eat enough. When you finally stumbled through our door, the first thing you did was ask me was what was for dinner.”

    “What can I say?” Asra laughed, tickling her back and eliciting a squeal from her, “I missed your cooking.”

    Sylendias tried to fight back, but his fingers were unrelenting. Soon, she couldn’t speak for laughter. She fought valiantly, but Asra was, as always, far too nimble. The game ended as it usually did, with Sylendias begging for mercy, her sides hurting from laughter. Asra beamed at her and smoothed his rumpled hair back from his forehead.

    “I’ll miss you.”

    She frowned. “Are you sure you have to go tonight?” Her glance shot back to the curtains partitioning off the back hallway. She hadn’t said anything to Asra about the incident the previous night. What could she say that wouldn’t worry him? She still wasn’t sure if it truly had been an intruder. The animalistic scream was probably just the alley cat. But the backdoor had been wide open and she was so sure she’d closed  _ and _ locked it. She might have forgotten that she’d left it ajar, but… Still, the thought of being alone in the shop tonight made her heart skip a few beats. “It  _ is _ a moonless night.”

    She knew that moonless nights, like tonight, represented a time when secrets would be revealed and new beginnings were possible. But tonight, the threatening darkness seemed ravenous in its consumption of light. Shadows seemed larger and it took more effort than usual to sing a light into her hands. 

_     Did he really have to go? _

    Asra nodded and smiled reassuringly. “It  _ is _ the right time to begin a journey.” 

    Sylendias pouted, fluttering her eyelashes up at him.

    He laughed, shaking his head. “No reason to fret.” He tapped her lips. “Or pout.”

    “If you say so,” she sighed, reaching for the end of her braid again. Each colored ribbon woven through it had been a gift from Asra during the course of her recovery from … from whatever happened to her three years ago. Each ribbon was filled with Arsa’s intentions. They brought Sylendias comfort and peace, but tonight, they were oddly quiet.

    Asra considered her for a few more moments, then he reached into his packed bag and dug around. He pulled a leather pouch from the depths and turned back to her with a smile. “Here, this might make the parting better.” 

    She took the pouch **…** and jumped as the buzzing magic sparked against her fingers. 

    “It’ll help make the distance bearable,” he smiled. 

    She looked at him in wonder before swiftly unwrapping the pouch. Inside was his own beautiful tarot deck. 

    She ran her fingers reverently over the design gracing the backs of the cards. She’d admired it for so long! Even at the hazy beginning of her memories, Tarot had come easily to her, and her own homemade deck sat in its special pouch in her bag. But Asra’s…oh, Arsa’s was  _ special _ . Whenever she was allowed to use his deck, the cards spoke to her in strange tongues, whispering into her mind. 

    “Just promise not to lose it.”

    She couldn’t read his expression. “This is really okay? You--You think I’m ready?”

    He bopped the tip of her nose. She batted his hand away with a laugh. “Remember, only you can answer that. Have you not been practicing on your own?”

    “No, I have,” she said, looking down at the deck in her hands. The mingled voices of the eager cards tugged at her psyche - they were eager to speak to her tonight. She slowly set the pouch down on the counter, admiring the way the light bounced off of the gilded edges.

    “You’ve made incredible progress with your magical control,” Asra continued, “but I feel that you’re still holding onto your doubt.”

    She frowned.  _ That’s not quite true, is it?  _ It wasn’t that she doubted herself. True, she  _ was _ holding back, but not for doubt. At least, she didn’t call it doubt. She called it fear.

    Arsa stood quietly, watching Sylendias gently caress his deck. If his cheeks flushed ever so lightly, she didn’t see.

    “Are they speaking to you?” he asked finally.

    She blinked, looking between the cards and Arsa in wonder. They tugged again, eager and willing. A soft smirk spread across her face and she looked back up at Asra, beginning to shuffle the cards. “The cards say yes.”

    His proud smile made her heart swell with emotion. “How would you like to read the cards for me?” he suggested, eyebrows wiggling in a teasing way.

    “Like you don’t already know what they’ll say,” she teased back. She held them up to her ear and pretended to listen carefully. “The cards…” she whispered dramatically as he attempted to muffle his laughter, “the cards, they speak!” She paused for emphasis. His eyes sparkled with mirth. She eyed him up and down before raising an eyebrow. “They say… They say… **‘** _That shirt with those pants?_ ’”

    He burst out laughing. She giggled brightly, silently apologizing to the deck. They seemed in a forgiving mood. 

    “Now, how about for real this time?” Asra said with a smile, gesturing to the fortune-telling room at the back of the shop. Sylendias nodded, already moving towards it.

    The room was small and lovely, and simply vibrating with magical auras; brightly colored cloths decorated with stars and planets draped from the ceiling and decorated the walls.  On either side of a cloth-covered table sat two mismatched chairs, and small lanterns hung from the ceiling to cast enchanting colored shadows on the walls. The smells of lavender and sage enveloped them as they entered.

    “I wonder just how powerful you’ve become,” he mused, adjusting a small red lantern above the table. “I can’t wait to see.”

    Her face flushed underneath the praise; it was embarrassing the way he was always going on about how “powerful” and “gifted” she was. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be special, but he seemed to have a bar set for her that she hadn’t quite reached yet. Sometimes, she wondered if she would ever reach it. Especially since -

    The thought was interrupted as something cold and scaly slid over her bare foot. If this wasn’t an everyday occurrence, she might have screamed. Instead, she looked down and grinned. “Hello, Faust!”

    “Oh?” Asra said gently, leaning down to offer his hand to his beautiful familiar, a blue and lavender constrictor named Faust. “My darling.” Faust wound her body up Asra’s arm to come to rest on his shoulder, her small pink tongue flickering as she smelled his hair and seemed to smile. 

    “Yes, my lovely,” he cooed gently as he stroked the top of Faust’s head. “Do you want Sylendias to read your cards as well?”

    Faust twisted herself about and looked at him upside down. Asra chuckled and kissed her snoot. “Ah. You’re right, as usual.”

    “Shall we?” Sylendias asked. 

    Asra nodded, and Faust flipped herself back over. With another little shared laugh at the private joke between the two of them, Asra and Sylendias took their seats, Faust reigning over the room from Asra’s shoulder. Sylendias couldn’t help the discomfort she felt as she sat in Asra’s usual chair, and he sat in the one for customers. She glanced down, realizing that she was still shuffling the cards.

    Asra’s gaze flickered from the deck to her face and back. Sylendias let out a pent-up breath, and sent forth her magic, asking the cards to tell her when they were ready. She wasn’t surprised when they indicated that they already were. Under Asra’s watchful gaze, she drew the first three.

_     Past. Present. Future. _

    She laid them out on the table before him as he watched closely. A typical reading would have her read all three for the customer, most likely to tell someone their fortune or to answer their questions. But tonight, only one card called to be turned over.  It was the middle card: the present. 

    In the lantern light, the golden moon of the High Priestess glinted as she was revealed. 

    “The High Priestess.”

    Asra breathed deeply, leaning forward as he placed his elbows on the table. “And what does she say?”

    Looking into the painted eyes of the Priestess, Sylendias she could practically hear her voice - quiet but insistent. The card seemed to be looking directly at Asra.

    “Asra, you’ve forsaken her.”

    His eyes widened. “I have?”

    “Yes, you’ve pushed her away,” Sylendias continued, eyes locked on the card, “and forgotten her voice.” She looked up at him to see that his usually calm expression was strained. “She’s trying to reach out to you, and she can’t quite make it all the way.” She reached across the table, covering one of his graceful hands with her own small one. “Asra, she needs you to listen. She desperately needs-”

**_KnockKnockKnock_ **

    They all jumped at the sudden sound echoing through the shop. Even the High Priestess fell silent.

    “What? That can’t be a customer” Sylendias grouched, standing up. “At  _ this _ hour?”

    Asra stood as well, chuckling, “Someone forgot to extinguish the front lantern again.”

    She frowned at him, opening her mouth to retort, but the renewed knocking drove the thought from her head. Asra patted her shoulder, then moved swiftly to the main shop to retrieve his traveling bag and hat.

    “No matter. It’s time I was off, in any case.”

    Sylendias let out a long sigh that followed in the wake of his footsteps. She reached up to find Faust and scratched in the sweet spot that the snake seemed to love, right underneath her chin. Faust became limp and Sylendias swore that her smile widened. “Just promise me that you’ll be careful?”

    “Only if you promise the same.”

    Their heads bobbed in unison, making them smile, even if those smiles were bittersweet. “I promise.” they chorused with a laugh.

    “Take care of yourself,” he murmured, adjusting his hat so that the brim obscured his eyes. “Until we meet again.”

    “May the road rise up to meet you.” she returned, but he had already disappeared through the curtains that lead to the back hallway. The clicking of the back door’s latch was lost underneath the incessant knocking on the front door. “Goodbye…?” She stared at the curtains as they stilled, fingers stroking the end of her braid. 

    The knocking grew louder.

    She turned back to the door with a huff.  _ Fine. Back to work. _

    She marched across the shop to the door. Whoever was on the other side was at the very least quite insistent, possibly even agitated. What were they doing here at this hour? Well, they could just come back during normal business hours! She nodded firmly, agreeing with herself.

    She grabbed the step-stool from beside the door and placed it underneath the peeping hole.   _ Too bloody short for anything... _ She arranged her face into a firm scowl and peered out.

    Her eyes fell on the figure outside,  the same one who kept pounding at the old wooden door. It was tall, wrapped in fine clothing that looked to be satins and silks, but a dark purple shawl wrapped about the head prevented Sylendias from seeing their features. Yet even in the dim light, she could see the gems glinting on their fingers in the lamplight. 

_     ...lamplight?? _

    The front lantern _was_ still aglow! She cursed - she’d gotten so caught up in packing for Asra that she’d completely forgotten about it. So this late night call _was_ her fault. Luckily, Asra wasn’t here to tease her until her cheeks were crimson. 

    “We’re closed!” Sylendias shouted through the door, keeping an eye on the figure. “Come back tomorrow!”

    The figure stepped back and looked directly at the peephole. She shivered. It seemed as if the figure could see her… 

    “I shall not.” They hadn’t even shouted, yet Sylendias could hear them clearly. “I’ll not suffer another sleepless night. Allow me entry.” There was a heavy pause in the air before the stranger breathed the last word: “Please.”

    It was the please that did it, ultimately. Sylendias hopped down, slowly undoing all three locking mechanisms by singing the familiar, sharp, lifting musical notes. She pulled on the heavy wooden door, and it swung open. The figure swept inside. Sylendias closed the door quite firmly behind them, singing a single sharp descending note, and the top lock clicked shut. She turned to look at the figure now standing by the counter. They - no, _she_ - was staring. Sylendias squirmed slightly under the unflinching gaze. 

    “Astounding.” The figure whispered with awe. Sylendias felt herself blush.

    “What can I do to help you?” she asked. Her eyes flickered from the figure’s fine shoes to the gauzy fabric gracing her arms.

    “Forgive me for the hour,” the newcomer said quietly, unwinding the shawl from about her head and neck, “but as I said, I will not - _ cannot _ \- suffer another sleepless night.”

    Sylendias nodded; this was definitely something she could help with. “I have many sleeping potions-” she began, her bare feet already moving toward the cabinet of potions. The figure shook her head violently.

    “No, I do not need them.”

    “Then what-?”

    “You must read the cards for me.”

    Her words stopped Sylendias in her tracks. “That has to be the strangest sleeping remedy I’ve ever heard of. Why-?”  She turned back to the customer and gasped - the shawl had fallen away, finally revealing the face of the most powerful woman in all of Vesuvia. 

    “Countess Nadia!” she breathed, eyes widening.

    The Countess reached up to readjust her hair ornaments with elegant hands. “My dreams have sent me here to find you,” she stated without preamble, her crimson gaze finding Sylendias’s own and pinning her very feet to the shop floor. Sylendias felt her heart begin to race.

    “My Lady,” she began, managing to keep the trembling from her voice, “Master Asra is not here.”

    The Countess slowly blinked **,** and Sylendias’s heart jumped into her throat.

    “He - ”

    “I require  _ you _ , young Apprentice.”

    “My apologies,” Sylendias insisted, flushing with color underneath the Countess’s gaze, “but I am just Master Asra’s apprentice, I don’t-”

    Countess Nadia glared at her and Sylendias fell silent. “Don’t try to fool me. Your reputation precedes you.”

_     As yours does with you, _ Sylendias thought, eyes narrowing in return.

    The Countess turned away and her eyes roved over the shop as she continued, “Beggars and nobles alike speak your name with hushed respect, perhaps even reverence.”

    Sylendias made a face while the Countess was distracted. “That’s certainly not true.”

    The Countess ignored that. Her gaze moved back and slowly took in Sylendias’s form, from tip to tail. A small frown appeared on the Countess’s sharp lips. “Although, in my dreams, you were …  _ different _ .”

    “I’m honored? Dreams can be powerful tools for skilled divinationists.” Sylendias cocked her head to the side in curiosity, braid falling from her shoulder. “But how was I different? What did you see? … My Lady.”

    “It is irrelevant.” The Countess dismissed **,** with a wave of her jeweled fingers. “You  _ are _ the one from my dreams, and therefore, I have come to you with a proposal.”

_     Oh, Countess, this is so sudden. _ Sylendias quickly banished the snarky thought before it could come out. She steeled herself and gestured to the back room. “Please, have a seat, my Lady.” 

    The Countess swept forward and managed to arrange herself picturesquely in the small chair. Somehow, she made herself appear as a jewel in a crown, even in the humble setting. Sylendias followed after, swallowing the dryness that caked her mouth. “May - May I offer you some tea?”

    The Countess’s eyes flashed in amusement and she smiled. It didn’t really soften the expression on her face. “Nervous?”

    Sylendias jolted under this correct assumption **,** forcing her smile to reach her eyes.  _ She’s a sharp one. _

    “I believe anyone would be under these circumstances, Countess.”

    With a small chuckle, the Countess smiled indulgently. “You needn’t be. In truth, I require very little from you.”

_     By the goddesses, why did Asra have to leave tonight?! _

    Sylendias quietly sat opposite the Countess, all too aware of how the Countess’s aura glimmered. It was familiar - like an old friend _. _

    The Countess didn’t seem to notice her stare, adjusting the drape of her flowing garments against her legs before sparing a glance about the small room. “It seems we are quite safe here.” she murmured.

    “Indeed, very little noise escapes this room. Master Asra has made sure of it. He values privacy for the readings.” Sylendias began to fidget with the edge of the tarot deck still on the table. “You said you had a proposal, Countess?”

    The Countess nodded serenely. “I have a project that requires the assistance of a magician…” she began. 

    Sylendias flinched backward as the Countess’s aura became heavily agitated. The nervous energy bled into the room, although the Countess’s commanding expression never wavered. 

    “...And so, I would request that you become a guest of the palace for the duration.” At her words, Sylendias felt her heart plummet. The Countess continued, “Of course, your every need will be taken care of. No expense will be spared.” 

    Sylendias found her breath was hard to catch. _Anxiety spike. Remember to breathe._ _Breathe and let it be. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. Maybe._ Sylendias’s body shook as she forced herself to breathe deeply. 

    “It cannot be done without you, Apprentice. My dreams were clear on that.” The Countess’s eyes seemed to flash in the red lantern’s light, but her aura spiked about her head.  _ Pain. _ “I ask only that you bring your wonderful talents…” Her gaze slowly fell to Asra’s deck upon the table. “...and the Arcana.”

    Sylendias felt her heart pound underneath her skin. Just as it started to roar in her ears, the calling of the tarot cards pulled her back to the moment. She automatically reached out and as her fingers closed about the deck, she felt their buzzing magic reacting with her own. She began to shuffle. Her breath came more easily. She looked up to see the Countess staring. Sylendias swallowed. 

_     Time to have courage _ .

    “Countess Nadia, before I can agree to anything, I have to ask you something.”

    The Countess nodded with assent.

    “My question is this - why?”

    The Countess’s noble eyebrows arched sharply. Sylendias let the silence stretch between them, the cards flashing as her shuffling slowed.

    “I meant, why do you need me and the Arcana, my Lady?” The cards winked and blinked underneath the lantern lights.“I’m no physician, but reading the cards seems to me to be a rather poor remedy for sleeplessness...  and your reputation  _ does _ precede you.”

    The Countess paused as she considered, watching the cards in Sylendias’s hands. “I am well aware of the rumors that I despise magicians and fortune-tellers,” she replied. “In truth, I only harbor ill will towards those frauds who muddy the waters of the truly mystical.” Her haughty expression softened for a moment. “As for why it must be you, I have already explained that my dream has sent me to find you.” Her gaze met rose from the cards to meet Sylendias’s own. “You are the only one who can help me.”

    Sylendias looked down at the cards flashing about in her hands. “And what of this mysterious project?” 

    “I’ll not say here.” The Countess countered swiftly. “The details are delicate.”

    Sylendias frowned. The Countess’s highly colored aura was streaked with gray, a color Sylendias knew to mean deception. “Forgive me, but I need to make an informed decision,” she said firmly, tapping the cards against the table. “How can I do that when you are not honest with me?”

    The Countess’s eyes widened and Sylendias felt the thrill of satisfaction. _Hit the nail on the head._

    “Countess, this is what I can do for you,” Sylendias offered, her steely gaze holding the Countess’s own. “If it pleases you, I will come to the palace tomorrow, where we may talk at your discretion.  However, I must withhold my oath of service until I understand fully what you need from me.”

    “Yes, of course,” The Countess said, relaxing in her chair. The crease between her eyes, one that Sylendias hadn’t noticed before, disappeared. She was far lovelier without it. “I agree to your conditions, Magician.”

    Sylendias couldn’t help but notice; _Apprentice to Magician. Interesting…_

    Sylendias stood and held out her hand. The Countess stared before a smile graced her lips. She reached out and they shook hands.

    The Countess beamed as she sat back down, hands smoothing out her skirts as she did so. “I will alert the guards to expect you tomorrow,” she said, leaning forward to rest her chin on an upturned hand. “You will be in time for the evening meal, Magician?”

    “Please, call me Sylendias.” 

    The Countess’s eyes sparkled. “Sylendias, then.”

    “Now,” Sylendias smiled, “I believe you requested a reading.”

    “Indeed,” The Countess affirmed with a sharp nod. “Although the magical display at the door was quite enlightening, I’d love to see more of your talents.”

    Sylendias reached for the deck once more. The cards buzzed with her own nervous energy; shouting, clamoring. She hadn’t noticed before just how much of her anxiety they absorbed. She bit her tongue; she’d have to apologize to them and cleanse them later. Under the Countess’s imperious gaze, she shuffled a few more times before the cards cried out to her.

    She once more laid out the top three cards;  _ past, present, future. _ She reached out to turn over the first card but hesitated. The cards were doing it again. Only one card called out for her. The center card was practically vibrating on the table while the other two remained still.  _ What was  _ _ with _ _ tonight? _ She jumped as the Countess’s voice cut through her trance.

    “Go on.”

    It was an order. There was no mistaking that tone, even though it was gentle.

    Sylendias turned the middle card. 

    “The Magician.”

    The figure of an anthropomorphic fox gazed steadily forward, surrounded by representations of all four suits of the Arcana deck. His purple eyes seemed to glint in the lantern light. 

    The Countess smiled, her gaze not leaving the card. “How very appropriate,” she said softly.  “And what does he hold for me?”

    As the High Priestess had done, the Magician started to whisper to her in his own tongue. What he was revealing was perhaps more than the Countess wished, but he spoke, and Sylendias echoed his words.

    “You have a plan.” 

    The Countess remained still and quiet.

    “One that’s long in the making. Years and years of planning, and now, you seek to set it in motion.”

    “And?” The Countess asked, her voice suddenly growing harsh with anticipation. “Should I move?”

_     Ah-ha! _

    Sylendias looked up quick enough to capture the Countess’s gaze. “Yes. You must act now. Everything has fallen into place.”

    The Countess’s smile was brilliant. “Say no more.” She stood quickly, giving Sylendias and the upright card one last triumphant stare. Sylendias placed the card back into the deck, whispering her thanks before rushing after her.

    The Countess shot her a look “I must say, you are not what I expected.”

    “Shall I take that as a compliment, Countess?”

    The Countess laughed to herself. “For now.” She began to wind the elegant purple cloth about her neck and face once again, her hands much quicker than before. She was ‘disguised’ before Sylendias could cross the shop. The Countess strode to the door and paused before it, waiting for … _ something? _

    Sylendias blinked. “What... _ oh! _ ” she said, hurrying behind the counter to the potions cabinet. She plucked a small bottle filled with bright green liquid from its shelf.

    The Countess raised an eyebrow in confusion. 

    “A dreamless sleep potion,” Sylendias said with a smile, coming around the counter to press it into the Countess’s hands. “I use it myself when I’m having trouble sleeping.”

    “And how often do you have trouble?” The Countess’s eyes sparkled as she teased her **,** but she accepted the potion with grace. “Bring any other potions you’d like tomorrow.” The Countess said, smiling at her. “Until then, Sylendias.”

    “Sleep well, Countess.”

    There was a long pause as they looked at each other. Sylendias coughed awkwardly.

    The Countess chuckled, gesturing to the door. “Are you holding me for ransom, Magician?”

    “Oh!” Sylendias blushed brilliantly red as the Countess laughed. Sylendias sang a single lifting note - the lock clicked open. She rushed forward and pulled the door open, trying to both bow and babble apologies at the same time.

    “Until tomorrow. And that color is most pleasing on you.” The Countess smiled as Sylendias’s blush grew, and with a nod, she slipped through the door. She disappeared into the darkness of the streets, flanked by two burly guards.

    Sylendias groaned, cheeks still flaming.  _ That could have gone better. _

    She used her step-stool, as always, to blow out the front lantern. The moonless night’s darkness fell like a curtain. Sylendias swiftly retreated to the light of her shop. She sang her descending notes and the locks clicked into place.

    She leaned against the door, letting out her shaking breath. _That was certainly strange, no question_ ** _!_** Had she really just received an invitation to the palace, to assist the Countess under mysterious circumstances? She’d have preferred going into this knowing what she was getting herself into, but that was just going to have to wait. She shook herself from her meandering thoughts: if she was supposed to be at the palace tomorrow evening, there was much to do to prep the shop for her departure!

    She straightened up and brushed off her many colorful skirts. She went to start on her mental task list. She’d not taken more than a few steps when a strange voice echoed in the shop.

    “Well, that was certainly interesting,” said a new voice. 

    Sylendias screamed, accidentally letting out a sharp note that made the lamps flash brilliantly before being suddenly extinguished. She cursed and pulled a dagger from its sheath on her belt. She blinked to clear the spots from her eyes. Her eyes darted about - chasing shapes in the growing shadows.

    “Behind you.”

    She whipped around, finally picking out a tall figure with strange features looming in the darkness.

    “I know the witch is supposed to live here.” the voice hissed, as the figure seemed to grow in size. “But who might  _ you _ be?” The figure began to stalk towards her.

    With her heart in her throat, Sylendias dropped down into a fighting stance - one she’d learnt when her magic was still unreliable - darting away from the intruder. He pursued her across the shop floor. She ducked around him, then darted forward and took a wide swing with her dagger. He spun away so that the tip of her steel only nicked his swirling cloak.

    “Ah ha!” he laughed. “You missed!” 

    Sylendias’s eyes narrowed. She darted forward again. 

    “En garde!” he laughed as he dodged away from the dagger’s arc again, “Now, this is excit-” but she’d anticipated that, and executed her true attack, using the momentum of the dagger swing to propel her solid shoulder forward into his stomach. 

    The figure let out a grunt as the impact hit him and he stumbled backward. She, in turn, pursued, pressing the advantage. Another flash of the dagger and the figure brought out his own to block.

    They swiftly began a vicious tango across the shop floor. As a dagger fight, it was desperate and it wasn’t long before her breath was catching in her throat. 

_     Have to finish this. By any means necessary. _

    She sang a looping series of notes and light appeared in her empty hand. The strange figure was revealed to be wearing a white plague doctor’s mask with red glass covering the eyes. She made as if to throw the ball of light at him.

    “Ah-ah, I’ve seen that trick before,” the figure snapped, ducking down and tapping at the red glass protecting his eyes. “You don’t think your boss hasn’t-?”

_     Now. _

    The light had been a diversion as she angled herself for his reaction. Her roundhouse kick connected with his wrist and his dagger went flying across the shop. “Agh!” 

    Another strong kick landed on his sternum, driving him back. “Ooof!”

    His back hit the wooden shop door rather hard. Sylendias moved in close, her dagger pressed up against his lower abdomen, the threat of the violence more than enough to stop the fight. He slowly raised his hands against the door, standing almost perfectly still. His voice slid out from underneath the mask. “I surrender, shopkeep.”

    Sylendias blinked against the sudden headache that roared through her mind.  _ Where had that come from?  _ She hadn’t even noticed it during the fight. But now, being this close -  _ hearing _ his voice - something about him pierced her to the core of her being. She shuddered. 

    She sang a lilting, looping stanza, and the lights began to flicker in the shop once more.   


    “Take off the mask,” she ordered. He didn’t move. “Take it  _ off _ .”

    “As you wish,” he said, hands still raised up against the door in submission. “Although I will need it back.” He reached up with one gloved hand, smoothly removing the mask. He threw it to the side. She barely registered the sound as it landed on the counter.  _ His face… _ Sharp cheekbones and pale skin, deep-set grey eyes - the right covered by a black eyepatch. His single eye met her glare and a smirk spread like sin across both of his highly colored cheeks. 

_     She knew him. _

    They continued to stare at each other for another electrical moment, the tension bleeding into the air. “You’re quite the skilled fighter,” he said quietly, his voice sliding through the air like water. “Allow me to introduce-”

    “You’re Doctor Jules. Julian Devorak.”

    His eyes widened. She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His aura reacted as though it had been struck. 

    “Well,” he said with a small grimace, “I haven’t heard  _ that _ name in years.” He glanced about the rest of the shop, eyes flickering to both the back hallway and the small staircase that led upwards. He looked back down at her. “Now, perhaps you can answer a question of mine?”

    Sylendias took a step back from him, her eyes confused. “What?”

    “Where is the witch?”

    She stared blankly at him. 

    He groaned. “Where’s he gone? I have business with him.”

    Sylendias lowered her dagger, still staring at him. “He’s not here,” she snapped. “What’s your true purpose?”

    “Don’t play games with me, shopkeep.” Doctor Devorak frowned, lowering his hands and crossing them across his chest. “I need to talk with him. I have questions.”

    Sylendias shook her head and shrugged noncommittally. “He’s not here. I don’t know where he went.” 

    He glared at her. 

    “Believe me or not,” she finally snapped, gesturing with the dagger at him, “that’s the truth. Now, state your purpose!” Her head was really beginning to ache. 

    “That  _ is _ my purpose.” His eyes darkened and he frowned deeply. “Did he say when he’d be-?” His question was interrupted by a sharp wince as he pushed himself off the door.

    “Are you okay?” Sylendias felt as surprised as he looked when the question slipped from her mouth. He stared at her. Sylendias squirmed a little but held her ground.  _ This was her shop after all, dammit _ **_!_ **

    “Strange sentiment from the woman who just bested me in a knife fight,” he smirked before wincing again. She frowned. Maybe she’d caused him to hit his head against the door. Head wounds could be tricky. Before he could say anything else, she quickly went to the potion cabinet and pulled out a small blue and a small red potion. She walked back over to the bewildered man, pushing them into his gloved hands. “What’s this?” he asked quietly.

    “A small healing potion,” she said, pointing to the red potion, “and a headache relief potion,” she said, pointing to the blue one. “Just in case.”

    He stared in open fascination at her. “Perhaps … perhaps later,” he mumbled, tucking them into a pocket in his cloak. She could feel his eye on her as she grabbed a blue one for herself. As she drank her potion, she looked him over. He didn’t seem terribly threatening like this, caught off-guard. In fact, he was rather... _ handsome _ .

    “Well,” he said suddenly, never taking his eyes off of her, “no sense in wasting a visit.” The corner of his mouth quirked upwards at her confused face before he continued, “You are a fortune teller, aren’t you?”

    She set down the bottle on the counter, making a gesture that was somewhere between a nod and a shrug.

    “Here’s the deal: read the cards for me, and I’ll leave you in peace.”

    She blinked at him. “Say what, now?”

    His smirk vanished as quickly as it had come. “Tell my fortune, shopkeep, and you’ll not see me again.” He jerked his head in the direction of the small back room. “After all, that  _ is _ what the room in the back is for, isn’t it?”

    It occurred to her, impulsively, that she might tell him  _ no _ simply so that she could see him again…but that ridiculous thought was chased from her mind by the remnants of her headache roaring back into life. She groaned quietly with a shake of her head.  _ The potions usually work the first time. What the hell? _

    “No?” he asked quietly, arms folded across his chest. “Pity.”

    “No, I didn’t say that.”

    He lifted an eyebrow. “So?”

    “So, head back there. I assume you can find your way. I’ll be right back.”

    She turned and marched away. She felt his eye watching her as she went up the stairs before the second floor cut off his intense gaze. She shook herself before she went to the small kitchen that she and Asra shared. It was small; overflowing with her cooking implements and ingredients **,** with bundles of drying herbs hanging from every beam in the ceiling, but she knew where even the smallest measuring spoon was. Asra was constantly impressed by her innate knowledge of what she called “ _ her kitchen _ ”. 

    She hummed a small light into existence as she hunted in the small storage cabinet. She found what she was looking for behind the potato sack. She grinned as she pulled out her “special occasion”s bottle, still mostly full of an amber liquid that she didn’t remember the name of.  _ Crocodile Tears or something. _ Asra didn’t know about this. She wasn’t sure if he’d approve.

    She was already halfway down the stairs when she realized that she’d grabbed  _ two _ cups. She only paused briefly before heading to the back room with a shrug. She stifled a snicker as she saw the doctor trying to make himself comfortable on the small chair, his knees sticking out at odd angles.

    It hadn’t really occurred to her just how tall the man was; he had to be a good foot and some taller than her. Her thoughts drifted as she wandered into the room and a grin crossed her face as she realized that she wouldn’t even have to bend her knees all that much.

    “Shopkeep?”

    She jolted as his voice cut through her rapidly dirtying thoughts, blushing brightly. “What?”

    He smirked at her bright red cheeks and that look told her he knew exactly where her mind had gone. She rolled her eyes and marched to the table, setting down the mugs and the bottle. His eyebrows disappeared into his auburn curls. She mocked his smirk openly.

    “What? Never seen a woman drink before?”

    “Oh, no judgments from me.” His smirk fell as he winced again. “Have… have we met?” For once, his words were unsure. She looked up at him and shook her head.

    “No,” she answered, tapping a finger on the side of her face. “You have the kind of face that’s hard to forget.” She reached up and curved her hand to resemble the pointed beak of the plague doctor’s mask.

    “Ha!” His answering grin was genuine.

_     Oh, gods, the fluttering... _

    She had to busy herself with the cork, hands trembling ever so slightly. 

    “What’s your poison?” he asked, giving the bottle a once-over glance.

    “Don’t recall,” she shrugged, pouring a good measure into each cup. “Crocodile Tears, maybe?” She re-corked the bottle and pushed a cup towards the Doctor. He took it, sniffing it appreciatively.

    “Certainly something close to that,” he agreed, taking a hearty swig of the drink.

    “Have a lot of experience?” she asked **,** taking a deep drink of the bitter and slightly salty brew. It burned slightly in her mouth and throat, but she liked that.

    “Why, when you start as many tavern brawls as I have, you start to remember what drinks get thrown at you,” he chuckled. “Crocodile Tears isn’t very forgiving to the eyes, but it does go down rough and raw.” He gave her a lascivious wink, drained the rest of the cup and let out a theatrical, “Aaaah!”

    She smirked, nursing her drink. The deck on the table seemed to be looking at her disapprovingly. She sent a glare its way, taking a slow deliberate sip.

    “You know, for some reason,” Devorak began, rolling the cup between his hands, “this really reminds me of the old days.”

    “The old days?” she asked, her curiosity warring with her sensibilities. For whatever reason, she just wanted to keep listening to his voice as he talked, the cadence of his tone rising and falling like ocean waves.

    He wagged a finger at her and his grin was devilish. “Ah-ah-ah,” he warned. “That is not a story worthy of a single Tear.”

    “How many Tears, then?” she teased. “As many as a Crocodile can shed?”

    “Perhaps,” he said, his eyes following the cup as it rolled across the cloth, “or perhaps as many tears as a man’s sins can squeeze from him.”

    The tension in the room grew thick. His aura withdrew into itself, bleeding red hot pain. It ached and hurt...and felt all too  **_familiar_ ** . It took everything she had not to cry right there. She hurriedly downed the rest of her drink, letting the burn take away her tears, and set the cup to the side. He looked up at the clink and set his cup aside as well. His hooded eyes flickered from her to the tarot deck. The cards called to her. She slowly reached out to grasp them.

    “Go on, no need hesitate on my account,” he said, voice husky and distracted. The cards weren’t buzzing as loudly as before, but they were still ready. It didn’t take long this time.

    She slowly spread the top three out, but once again, only one called to her. As he watched, she flipped it over.

    “...Death.”

    “Death?” The Doctor let out a sharp bark of humorless laughter. “ _ Death?! _ ” His laughter continued, stabbing against her ears. His eyes danced with a dangerous sparkle to them. “Now that...” His laughter dwindled to a snarl on his lips. “That is a very rich joke.”

    She stayed quiet, her stomach churning violently as her heart raced.

    Without warning, his hands banged down on the table. The cups jittered violently, stopped, and tumbled to the floor with a crash. He stood roughly, shooting Death a terrible glare.

    “Death cast her gaze on this wretch and turned away.” He shoved the curtains out of his way. “She has no interest in an abomination like me.”

    Sylendias shuddered in the wake of his outburst. She glanced at the card again but Death remained silent. She inhaled deeply of the lavender and sage before quickly following him out into the shop proper. He was already at the counter, staring down at the plague mask that lay there in the flickering lamplight. He glanced back at her and she could see a deep pain in his eyes.

    “You’ve been uncommonly generous,” he said quietly, “so I’ll leave you with a warning.”

    She tried to walk to him but stopped halfway across the room. “What is it?”

    Devorak looked down at the mask as he took it up in his hands. “The witch who lives here…don’t trust him.”

    “But I -” Sylendias’s eyebrows knit together and she frowned. “Where are you going with this, Doctor?”

    He turned and looked her in the eyes. She didn’t know if she was imagining the unshed pain in the corner of his eye. “He is not what he seems. Trust me on that.” The mask twisted in his hands. “He’s a grand manipulator. Secrets and lies are his currency.”

_     Secrets and lies… _

    “Why would I be in danger from Asra?”

    “That... _ creature _ is far more dangerous than you know,” he said quietly as he put the mask back on. “But then again, you do know how to defend yourself quite well.” The swirl of his cloak caused the nicks she’d made to flutter in the air.

    He headed to the door and paused. “Well, then. I’ve overstayed my welcome once again.” The red eyes stared back at her and she could almost see the glint of his troubled eye beneath the red. “Don’t let him fool you, shopkeep. He’s not who you think and I’d hate to know that you got caught in the crossfire.”

    And with that, he was through the door, slamming it closed behind him. Sylendias ran to the door. She yanked it open, looking wildly about the cobbled street. Not even the sound of retreating footsteps reached her through the fog. She shut the door. As she sang the locks closed, she realized that she hadn’t unlocked the locks before Doctor Devorak had dramatically flown from the shop. She ran her hand over the locks with a frown.

_     How had he gotten the locks undone? And when? _

    She rubbed her temples as the headache pounded away. She went and gathered up the fallen cups and bottle. As she headed back up the stairs to the second floor, she sang the lights to sleep. It was late, and there was much to do in the morning before she could head to the palace.

    The night wore on and the World turned.


End file.
